The Pit was much more packed than usual, and the energy in the room was chaotic and almost suffocating. It was the kind of place where you could practically taste the sweat and desperation in the air, and the smell, you can imagine. The underground fight club was alive with shouts, the clang of steel on steel, and the low, gritty hum of the Shatterzone's pulse. Jarek stood off to the side in the fighters' prep area, methodically wrapping tape around his knuckles.
"Ladies and gentlemen, Let us proceed with the main match of tonight's schedule. Let's quickly meet the fighters. Introducing the challenger from the rough and ragged depths of Sector Twelve, the one and only, the unstoppable Thrasher!"
The crowd cheered as loud as they could, the noise enough to rattle the rusted walls of the arena. Jarek ignored all the clamour, his focus locked on the task at hand, his movements precise and deliberate. Wrap, pull, tighten. Then repeat.
Tek appeared beside him like a stray cat that smelled trouble, his grin sharp enough to cut glass. "The arena's packed" he said, practically trembling with excitement. "Don't screw this up. I've put my money on you ."
"Don't you worry Tek, I'll handle it," Jarek muttered without looking up.
Tek raised an eyebrow. "Thrasher's a tank, you know. He's not just gonna let you dance around him all night." Tek shared his opinion.
Jarek flexed his fingers, testing the tape. "He's strong, sure. But he's slow. He'll come in hot, swing wide. I'll make him work for it. I'll wear him down then I'll finish it."
Tek barked out a laugh, clapping Jarek on the shoulder. "You and your plans. He said. Just don't forget, the crowd wants a show. Give them something to talk about, yeah?"
"They'll get what they came for," Jarek said, finally glancing up. His voice was calm, his eyes sharp under the dim lights.
Satisfied, Tek backed off, leaving Jarek to finish his preparations. He rolled his shoulders, easing the built up tension in them. The shard was tucked in a hidden pocket inside his jacket, as it pressed faintly against his ribs. It hummed softly, a low, persistent rhythm, he was all too familiar with.
Use it.
The thought slipped into his mind uninvited, like a whisper carried through the wind. Jarek clenched his fists, shaking his head to banish the idea. Not here. He did not need it, not for this. He thought to himself.
"And now, his opponent," the announcer boomed, dragging out the words for effect. "The undefeated, undisputed and unprecedented 'king of the Pit ,Jarrreeek Vayyynnneee'!"
The roar of the crowd was deafening as Jarek stepped into the ring. Harsh overhead lights buzzed and flickered, enough to blind you if you stared too long at them, they illuminated the makeshift arena, a grimy circle of worn-down mats surrounded by bodies pressed so close you could feel their heat. Across from Jarek, Thrasher loomed like a mountain of muscle and scars, his bulk almost cartoonish.
Jarek met his gaze, unflinching, and raising his fists as the bell rang.
Thrasher charged at Jarek like a freight train, swinging wide with a haymaker that if it met it's target, it could've ended the fight right then and there. Jarek dodged the fatal blow, the punch was strong enough to bend his skull inward if it landed . The crowd cheered as Jarek avoided the punches reach, his movements fluid and measured.
"Come on, Jarek!" one of the spectators shouted. "Quit dodging and hit him already!"
Jarek smirked, sidestepping another wild swing before darting in with a quick jab to Thrasher's ribs. Thrasher grunted, swinging again, this time clipping Jarek's shoulder hard enough to send him stumbling. The pain flared in his shoulder but he recovered, rolling to avoid the follow-up punch.
"You're faster than you look," Thrasher rumbled, his voice gravelly and raw.
"And smarter than you'll ever be," Jarek shot back, circling Thrasher trying to rile him up.
The fight was nasty. Thrasher fought like a wrecking ball, all physical force and little finesse, hoping to terminate the battle quickly, but Jarek relied on speed and skill, evading most attacks before counterattack. His knuckles ached from every blow he struck, and every swing sent shockwaves up his arms. The crowd became louder every second as they screamed, feeding off the unadulterated energy.
Then it happened again.
The shard buzzed against his ribs, a subtle but insistent vibration. It was as if it was calling out to him, tempting him to lean into its power. He tried to ignore it, but the warmth it let out spread through him, sharpening his focus, steadying his fists.
Use it.
The thought was louder now, harder to ignore.
Thrasher swung again, and this time, his punch landed. The blow landed square on Jarek's ribs, like a sledgehammer, the pain that dropped him to one knee gasping for air. The spectators roared, bloodthirsty and savage.
"You're a tough one Vayne," Thrasher growled, towering over him like a predator stalking injured prey. "But not tough enough."
Jarek's vision blurred at the edges, and for a moment, the world seemed to tilt. He gritted his teeth, his hand brushing against the shard through his jacket. Its warmth flared, and the pain dulled, replaced by a rush of energy that made his head swim.
He surged to his feet, faster than he should've been able to. Thrasher hesitated, surprised, and that was all the opening Jarek needed. He ducked under a wide swing and drove his elbow into Thrasher's jaw with enough force to make the bigger man stagger.
Jarek didn't stop. He followed with a knee to the gut. Then a hook to the temple. Thrasher hit the ground like a felled tree, the impact shaking the ring.
The crowd erupted, their cheers a deafening roar. Jarek stood over his opponent, his chest heaving, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. He raised a fist, and the noise doubled.
"Winner, Jarek Vayne!" the announcer declared, though his voice was almost drowned out by the chaos.
Jarek turned and left the ring, his steps deliberate. The shard's hum faded back to a whisper, its presence still there but quieter now. Tek met him at the edge of the staging area, grinning like a kid who'd just won big at cards. He was ecstatic as he had made a killing while gambling.
"Now that was a fight!" he said, slapping Jarek on the back."You will rule the entire Shatterzone one day if you continue to dominate like this."
Jarek didn't respond, his mind racing. Tek frowned, leaning into him. "Are you okay? You seem a bit... Out of it."
Jarek shook his head, walking past Tek. "I'm good."
But he wasn't. Because deep down, he knew what had happened. He'd used the shard. Just a little. Just enough.
And it had worked.
But the question that gnawed at him now was simple and terrifying.
What would it ask for in return?